


Dreaming is Believing

by glenien



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Coda, Domestic, Gen, Gen Fic, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glenien/pseuds/glenien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So this is what Sam wanted, huh? What was he calling that again, something he never had…  a normal life. (S8 spoilers, Gen, domestic with a twist)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming is Believing

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever published SPN fic in English! Betaed by awakencordy, cross-posted to my [LJ](http://glenien.livejournal.com/134284.html#cutid1).

So this is what Sam wanted, huh? _This?_ Seriously? It looks like Stepford freaking puked in here. And again, what was he calling that? Oh, yeah- the thing he never had… _a normal life_.

Dean loves his brother more than anything both on the Earth and the Heavens, but seriously, sometimes he wants to hit him in the face. This is what made Sam drop out of the life? "Safe"? It’s all routines on top of the routines- over and over again, similar looking houses with similar looking husbands working at their respectable jobs- coming home to their respectable wives and kids, all and all wearing creepy, happy smiles on their faces. Dean knows. He spent a year with Lisa and Ben, doing nothing but perfecting it to an art form, after all. 

He rolls further into the town and follows his instincts (and a few people running with their dogs) and finds the park. It’s just how Sam likes it; lots of green and open space- with big trees that look old enough to feel like they belong in there, long before the humans waltzed in and perfected the place into a nutshell. A young couple smile politely at him as he walks further into the park, instead of giving him the hairy eye- seriously, what is wrong with these people?

Dean grits his teeth and carries on. He wanted to check on his brother, that’s all. Just a quick check. No harm in that.

And there he is, just around the corner. He wouldn’t miss those shoulders and that mob of hair anywhere- and Sam… he looks _fine_. Good, you know? Downright _happy_ even. 

Dean does feel a bit bad, then. Sam simply looks pleased to be there, next to a family of four with two youngsters babbling and smashing around the little pool, getting their ankles wet and between the polite couple with the dog. It is a nice afternoon, after all.

He’d forgotten how long it has been since he saw those dimples on the kid’s dorky face but, you know- whatever. Sam looks okay, which is the main point of this trip. His little brother smiles a lot and waves his hands around as if he’s trying to lead an orchestra or something- the usual.

After a minute or two, Dean frowns. And watches him a bit further. 

"Hey," he grabs a young jogger’s arm who happens to be passing by and stops him effectively, "You see the man with the hair over there?"

The guy looks up, pauses and looks a bit chagrined, "Yeah- shame, isn’t it? It’s always the normal ones," he shrugs and shakes his head, then continues on his merry way.

Dean, on the other hand, can feel his insides freezing, twisting and turning into a new core.

_No. Not that, please no._

Sam throws the second stick as far as his arm could manage (which is quite far) and finally looks up to see who was blocking his precious sun- his face does a funny thing when he notices Dean standing there. 

"I thought we agreed to try not to mangle in each-others lives anymore," he says wryly, not quite meeting his eyes, his soft tone belying his words.

Dean shrugs and sits down next to him on the bank, successfully jostling their shoulders together. It is a beautiful day, sunlight shining over the small lake- there is even a tiny herd of ducks over there, quacking over the bits and pieces children feeding them. 

"Just wanted to drop by to check on you," he replies carefully, "You gonna berate your big brother for that, Sammy?"

A small smile blossoms at the corner of Sam’s mouth, "No, I guess not. I’m glad you’re here Dean," His eyes shine, "I am really."

Dean smiles back but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

"How’s the life?" Sam asks, his forehead all concerned with lines again.

"Good- good," Dean clears his voice, "And uh- you? Suburb agree with you?"

Sam snorts, "You just want to meet the girl and the dog right? Come on- let’s get it over with…"

"You don’t have to –" Dean protests.

"They’re just right there- hey, Amelia!" Sam calls. He turns around and beams back at Dean, "I know you’re more like- no animal person, but I promise, you’re gonna love them- Riot is like the most intelligent thing ever and Amelia, truth is, I really like her-"

"Sam-"

"Seriously, just give them a chance, okay? Have dinner with us or something-"

" _Sammy, please_ \- stop-" Dean’s voice breaks in the middle.

"What?" Sam stops and confused, looks at him. And looks down at their hands. "What are you doing?"

Dean tries to swallow past the great big lump in his throat. His thumb never stops rubbing slow circles inside Sam’s palm. "There is… there is no one there, Sam."

" _What?_ " exclaims Sam, "What do you _mean there is-_ "

"I’ve been watching you for the past twenty minutes," Dean adds shakily, "No one ever comes near you- or _speaks_ to you." Sam continues to look at him with dubious eyes. "You’re alone in here, man," he whispers.

"What are you talking about-" Sam gives out an incredulous laugh, "I’ve been here with them- _whole day-_ even a year- just because _you weren’t- didn’t-_ " Sam gasps a pained breath and clutches his right temple.

Dean’s thumb presses harder, "You having headaches? Migraines?"

" _Shut up-_ " grits Sam, his voice going higher and hysterical with each note, " _That’s not_ \- that is _not_ what this is about!- _what do you mean-_ what are you _trying_ to say- NO!" Sam pulls his hand harshly from Dean’s grasp and starts rubbing circles into his temples, "No, okay- I’m not gonna sit down and listen to- _you can’t ruin this for me_. They’re _just- how can you say such a thing_?!"

"A ghost, then?" Dean tries desperately to find something to reason with him, "A spirit? Something you see but I don’t? Come on, gimme something here, Sammy." 

Sam’s eyes are watery with a non-healthy amount of pain but he wears his stubborn face on, "No- no Dean- you _don’t understand_ \- that’s… _she baked a cake for me_ ," babbles Sam and finally, his voice cracks, "She- she _can’t be_ …"

"Okay," whispers Dean, ignoring all those sympathetic and curious looks all around the park and just focusing on Sam, always Sam. He grabs his brother’s shaking shoulders with a tight arm, "Okay buddy, it’s gonna be okay."

***

The CAT scan is littered with lots of scary black spots and even if Dean didn’t know that’s not good, he could have recognized it from the neurologist’s grim face- it was not good, not at all.

"I see no treatments in here for your previous traumas," the doc prompts.

"Yeah, uh-" Dean cuts in, seeing that Sam makes no attempt to explain at all, "We were on duty back there- our papers got lost and rambled."

"And I’m guessing you can’t tell me what has been tried?" The doc sighs again, "I’m going to be honest with you. Sam, you can’t handle another concussion. Do you understand? That would be the end of it. I recommend you a lot more quieter and calmer work environment and lots of rest. Let the drugs do their work and hopefully in about a month we’ll see a decrease in both visual and auditory hallucinations."

"A _month?_ " Dean protests, but bites down his comeback when he sees Sam’s blank face, "Uh- I mean. That’s. Real quick. Yeah. Thank you, doc."

He immediately picks up Sam’s new cocktail from the corner pharmacy- a whole lot of bright colors- and is thinking of a way of obtaining them much quicker, you know- for future needs. 

"You should just drop me to a clinic," murmurs Sam into his side of window.

Dean almost swerves the car out of the traffic. "Stop it with the crazy talk."

Sam snorts.

Once they are inside the hotel room, Dean sighs and palms the keys, turning sideways, "Sammy- I’m not gonna leave you behind, man. This- _thing_ …"

"Crazy," Sam corrects dully, "Say it Dean, let’s not sugarcoat it."

Dean opens his mouth to protest, then picks his battles. "Okay, fine- _crazy_ ," he rolls his eyes, "Must have happened to you for a reason… do you remember anything from the, uh- you know, after?" prompts Dean, "You know, after me and Cas go to la-la-land?"

Sam shakes his head and burrows further inside his quilt.

"Okay," Dean can’t help himself but pet gently the overgrown limbs inside the scratchy bed clothing, "Okay, no problem. We can deal with it as it comes. You heard the doc- lots of rest… and you’re not actually seeing baddies right?"

"No," responds Sam quietly, "I don’t really know if it’s worse or not."

That night, when Sam’s knocked out by his selection of pills, Dean goes through his stuff. It’s only a precaution. You can’t be sure with their lives, maybe it’s a pissed off witch or a God’s spell or a cursed object- one can never be too careful. But he finds a medic-bracelet instead, it’s inside the right corner of Sam’s duffel, left for anybody to see. It looks used and old enough. 

There is also a slip for an order of coffee. 

"I’ve found your Amelia," he wakes Sam next morning, all dressed up.

Sam looks confused for one second, then crushed, then resigned. It’s such a heartbreaking sight- it convinces Dean that he is doing the right thing. 

Sam always needs answers.

The woman pours them tea and offers chocolate chip cookies with almonds. She has great, long hair and soft features. She’s also eighty- she lives across the Kermit Memorial Hospital, running a coffee shop/library.

"You were always so good to us," she smiles fondly at Sam, "I’m glad you finally found somebody who knew you from before."

"So you took care of me?" whispers Sam.

"Dear, you were in no shape," says Amelia gently shaking her head, "Those drugs they gave you made you all shaky. But my niece wasn’t here and I needed help as much as I could get- I’ve always thought you were sent to me for a reason."

Dean fixes her broken coffee machine, stocks most of the heavier books into their places and reattaches one of the table’s legs. Just before they leave, Sam stops at the door and asks, "Amelia… you don’t happen to have a dog around here, do you?"

"No dear," the elderly woman smiles at them, "Sadly, it’s bad for my allergies."

Inside the ER is busy as a bee, they find one nurse who remembers Sam from before and sends them to third floor. The rooms are lined with coma patients and an open space area full of hesitant kids who are petting a very large, very calm Golden Retriever standing next to its trainer. 

"Let’s go Dean," Sam murmurs, "Please."

"Okay," Dean turns around and sees a furry of black, white and brown fur attaching himself to Sam’s leg.

The Australian Shepherd gives out an excited wuff when Sam crawls down to pet him.

"Hey buddy," whispers Sam, scratching behind its ears.

The young trainer smiles at both of them. "Hey there- you guys seem to know each other, right?"

"Yeah, um-" Sam clears his throat and blinks back the sudden burning inside his eyes, "His name is Riot, right? He works in here?"

"Yeah," she smiles down at the dog, "He changes trainers sometimes- so I’m not always with him but yeah, Riot here almost works every week day. I think people- and children see him- and somehow relate to him, you know? He helped lots of people."

"How much for him?" interrupts Dean, "Are you the owner? Can you talk with the owner?"

"Dean- no, we can’t," Sam smiles shakily and gets up. "He has a job in here. We can’t take him away."

"You sure?" Dean looks back at him.

Sam nods. He gives one last squeeze to the dog’s extended left paw and he gets out of here. 

Dean is next to him with every step.

***

The TV is on but Sam has no idea what he’s watching. He stares blankly at it until there is a tray of food in his lap.

"Took the meds? Good," Dean drops down next to him with his own tray, "Grub time, c’mon. I may be a bit rusty- but I can admit that’s a mean macaroni."

Sam smiles weakly at him and he tries to grab the fork- but his hands shake too much for it.

Dean looks at him. "It’s going to be okay, Sammy."

Sam snorts, softly, "Is it?" he asks.

"Yeah," responds Dean firmly, "You know why? Because you are better than this."

"Dean- I don’t even know what I did all the last year," Sam is shaking all over now, "and what I remember is most definitely not real."

"You heard the doc, it will come to you," answers Dean, "And you have me, now. We’ll figure it out."

"I can’t hunt- ever. Not- ever, not- not anymore..." His voice finally breaks.

"Hey-" cuts Dean firmly, "Look at me. None of that matters, okay? You’ve done enough. Hell, _we’ve done enough_. We’ll take care of you, now. And if that means I have to choose a suburban corner to live the rest of my life and have you safe and sound with me? Hey- I’m not complaining," Dean’s face is turned toward him with sincerity shining through, "You mean far more to me than any of these crap- I’ve got your back, Sammy. I always will. Okay?"

Tears flowing down from the tip of his overgrown nose, Sam sniffs, nods and whispers, "Okay."

"C’mon," Dean pushes his own tray a bit closer to him, "Eat your Mac and Cheese. Then we’ll watch some guys blowing shit. Then, tomorrow, we’ll start looking houses. You’ve got a state preference?"

"Anywhere is good," answers Sam and adds, "And Dean? For whatever’s worth- I’ve got yours, too."

Dean looks at him, a fond smile moving around at the corners of his mouth, "I know," he says, "Eat your dinner, you big dork."


End file.
